


A Serious and Committed Relationship

by GizmoTrinket



Series: Smut Sunday [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bisexual John Watson, Blow Jobs, Bottom Sherlock Holmes, Coming Out, Drunk Driver, Explicit Language, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Gay Sherlock, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied/Referenced Torture, Jealous John Watson, Love Confessions, M/M, Pining, Rimming, Sherlock is loud in bed (who'd have guessed?), Snogging, Top John Watson, mary still died though, season four was a dream, sherlock has quite a lot of sex, texting from the same room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-19
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2019-03-06 22:50:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13421280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GizmoTrinket/pseuds/GizmoTrinket
Summary: Sherlock has to find a datemate in order to catch the last of Moriarty’s subordinates. John hasn’t spoken to him except to blame him for Mary’s death. So Sherlock decides to fake a relationship. He just happens to know a chippy looking to make his ex jealous. What happens when a certain army doctor sees the two kissing on the front of a gossip magazine?If you’re just here for johnlock smut and don’t want/care for the plot skip to chapter two. Chapter one is rated M. Stand alone fic-Unrelated to the rest of the works in this series.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A very special thank you to my beta [EchoSilverWolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EchoSilverWolf/pseuds/EchoSilverWolf) who killed my comma problem.  
> This story is for the [Hiatusory Challenge on Tumblr.](https://hiatustory.tumblr.com/challenge-schedule)

“I need you to attend a gala.”

Sherlock snorted indelicately. “Fuck off, Mycroft.”

“Oh? I would have thought that you’d jump at a chance to catch Moran. Fine, I’ll get someone else—”

“Moran? You said Moran. He’s surfaced?” Sherlock pounced at the name.

Moran was Moriarty’s right-hand man. The only person in Moriarty’s network who had escaped. Sherlock learned that Moran had no love for his employer. He was still a threat - snipers for hire always were - but since he didn’t seek vengeance, Sherlock let him go after Serbia. Mycroft had seen that Sherlock wasn’t fit for field work any longer and Sherlock was tired after being away so long. It was decided that someone else would finish Sherlock’s work.

Except now Moran was back and in London. His crosshairs could be aimed at John again and Sherlock wouldn’t know, since John was still living in that wretched flat in the suburbs. John hadn’t understood that Sherlock hadn’t relapsed. That Sherlock just couldn’t bear to be handed over to the enemy, that he was dead anyway so he thought he should save himself the torture this time. John was living in a state of denial; he preferred the story that Sherlock was back on drugs and had accidently overdosed. Sherlock had lived, but it had been a close thing.

And while he was busy dying, Mary was killed by a drunk driver. There was nothing Sherlock could have done to prevent it, but John mourned the loss of his daughter and (to a lesser extent, Sherlock knew) his wife. He blamed Sherlock since she’d been driving home from the hospital. And since the driver was John’s sister, John couldn’t blame her.

It was all very messy and horrible and since Sherlock was out of his depth with normal emotions, he couldn’t begin to untangle that.

“I know how much you love repetition so I’ll say it again: Moran’s in London. He’s attending a gala under an assumed identity in two months,” Mycroft said, derailing Sherlock’s thoughts.

“Do you want him dead or alive?” Sherlock asked. He’d first killed in a seedy motel during his “death.” He’d killed several people after and that wasn’t even including Magnussen. That murder didn’t haunt Sherlock like some of the others did. He understood how John had been fine after shooting the cabbie. Magnussen needed to die.

“He’s dangerous enough that no one will question your having to use lethal force to stop him. But if you can bring him in, do so,” Mycroft said, clearly growing bored with the conversation.

Sherlock hummed. He’d play it by ear, if it looked like Moran was going to target John again Sherlock wouldn’t hesitate.

“I’ll email you the details.”

Sherlock grunted. He had lost interest in the conversation.

“Oh, and Sherlock? You’ll need a date. A serious and committed relationship,” Mycroft added before disconnecting the call.

“What?!” Sherlock shouted before realizing the line was dead. He was tempted to phone Mycroft back and argue, but if Mycroft said he needed a date he probably did.

He wondered if he should ask John. John would be good backup if it got dangerous but- no. John would never agree to be his date, pretend or otherwise.

Sherlock wondered if he should find a prostitute. But, no, he could act like they were a couple but there was no way to guarantee that his date could manage. Besides, he’d have to pay the person for multiple outings, be photographed on multiple dates if it were to be a serious relationship and he didn’t want to pay for that.

Should he go out and seduce another woman like Janine? No, he decided, that wouldn’t work. Moriarty had known Sherlock was gay so it was likely Moran did too, and although Sherlock could pretend to be bisexual he didn’t want to. He was tired of pretending to be something he wasn’t. He was too old for it and he didn’t have to hide for John’s sensibilities any longer. John wasn’t here and he likely wasn’t coming back. Not that Sherlock felt he’d been particularly subtle. John saw but he’d never observed.

Sherlock found himself scrolling through his phone’s contacts. He’d had lovers over the years, one had even left a hickey (not that John had noticed). But he found himself apathetic to all of them. He could seduce someone new but he didn’t really want to do that either. He didn’t want a relationship with anyone but John.

But that was never going to happen.

His stomach growled.

“Fine,” he snapped at it. Mrs Hudson was out so there was no food to be found there. His fridge only contained some mouldy bread and thirty-seven different batteries.

Finding himself rather depressed, Sherlock made his way to his favourite chippy.

“What’s bothering you, Sherlock?” Chris, the owner, knew Sherlock only came by when he’d had a bad day. He was closing shop when Sherlock came, unaware of the late hour.

“I need to find a date,” Sherlock said. Ever since he and Chris had started shagging he’d found himself opening up to him more and more. He knew Chris would understand. They’d had a brief but mostly satisfying fling. They’d broken it off when Chris started dating someone. Sherlock had made it very clear that he wasn’t looking for a relationship, that he wasn’t capable of one. (Everyone left eventually, even John.)

Chris hummed. “That is tricky. But, you’re in luck.”

“How so?” Sherlock asked, munching on a chip.

“Marvin and I broke up. I’ve been looking to make him jealous.”

It was Sherlock’s turn to hum. “I haven’t changed, you know. And this would be a rather long and public courtship.”

Chris smiled, “Just what I’m looking for.”

Their first date was dinner and a movie. Sherlock had skilfully arranged for some of his fans to see them holding hands at dinner and snogging a bit during the movie. By the time the date was over, there was practically a crowd for their goodbye kiss before Chris got into a cab.

\----

John was walking to work when he saw it. A gossip rag with Sherlock’s picture plastered all over the front page. John wasn’t interested, he wasn’t. But he stopped because it was a very clear picture of Sherlock kissing. John had seen Sherlock kiss before, that woman Janine. But he’d never looked so… comfortable. So happy. Plus, this wasn’t some random woman, written off as a scam for a case. It was a man. John had seen this man before too. He was the owner of Sherlock’s favourite chippy. He always gave Sherlock extra portions and barely gave John enough to fill the paper boat.

John hated him.

\----

Chris had never been to Sherlock’s place. Sherlock had always been afraid that John would see him. But John wasn’t there and he wasn’t going to stop by so what was the harm? Mrs Hudson already knew Sherlock was gay and it’d make her happy to think he was moving on.

They managed to make it to the bedroom before anything important was exposed. It would have been awkward otherwise. Sherlock had to remember to close the drapes in the future when he was going out on a date.

Of course, Sherlock promptly forgot about this when Chris sank to his knees. Sherlock yanked on his short blond hair before pushing Chris to the bed and returning the favour.

\----

John had mostly forgotten about the article when he was accosted at work by one of his patients.

“Is Sherlock Holmes really gay?” The man had hope in his voice.

“I don’t know,” John answered honestly. He didn’t think so. Sherlock was asexual as far as he was concerned.

“So you two weren’t…” The man trailed off and made a crude hand gesture.

“No. I’m not gay,” John said and then he paused. Why had he said that? He wasn’t but he wasn’t married anymore. Who was he trying to hide from? His sister was in jail, his parents were dead, the men in his unit knew he was bisexual. The only reason he’d started saying it in the first place was so that he didn’t make Sherlock uncomfortable. When Sherlock turned him down over dinner John tried to reign himself in, make sure his longing looks were never noticed. It was hard work being closeted around the most observant man in the world but he’d managed.

He’d managed because Sherlock was human. He made mistakes. And, John knew, he was flesh and blood. Sherlock had stated he was married to his work but John had seen that Sherlock wasn’t as keen on it when he came back from the dead.

Oh, God. What if Sherlock had come back wanting a relationship? John was already mostly engaged. And by the best man speech he was married. Now Mary was gone and John had decided to give himself some space. He’d just been so mad that Sherlock had almost gotten himself killed again. And this time really was suicide. John couldn’t cope. He couldn’t live without Sherlock. So he’d decided to distance himself for the moment when Sherlock finally managed to off himself, intentional or otherwise.

Was that a mistake?

What if Sherlock was waiting for John to come back? What if he got tired of waiting? What if he was ready to have more in his life than just the work and he had given up on John…

“Doctor Watson?”

“Sorry.” John shook himself out of his thoughts. “You said you had a rash? Let’s take a look at it.”

\----

This was wrong. This wasn’t part of the plan. He was very nearly forty. Men his age didn’t do this. But Chris was right, the danger of getting caught made it hotter. Sherlock cried out as he spilled against the building’s bricks. Chris followed shortly. Sherlock pulled up his trousers as Chris threw the condom into a nearby bin.

Chris hated Sherlock’s work, so when Sherlock said he was going to pick up a bag of tongues at the morgue, Chris pulled a face and said they’d meet up later.

It was proof that they weren’t right for each other. If Chris saw a head in the fridge he’d probably faint. Not like John. John was perfect. Except John wasn’t gay. He never said he was straight. But the meaning was clear: men weren’t John’s area.

Except perhaps Major Sholto. John had wanted him, maybe even had him. John hadn’t ever spoken about him to Sherlock. It was just as well, Sherlock hated him.

Sherlock greeted Molly when he wandered in and held out his hand for the bag. “Tongues,” he said expectantly. They didn’t really get on well since Sherlock’s overdose. Molly seemed to have the same bottled up rage at him that John did. Sherlock didn’t know why and he wasn’t going to ask. She’d either tell him what was wrong or she’d let it go. She wasn’t hiding away like John was.

“So, you’re gay?” Molly was holding the paper that showed Sherlock and Chris in the middle of a more innocent kiss.

Sherlock pressed his lips together. He knew that Molly liked him (you’d have to be blind not to see it) and he knew that feeling was what kept him in body parts. If he came out to Molly he’d be risking that. And he could say it was for a case. Molly could be trusted and it wasn’t lying.

But it’d been eight years. Molly’s crush hadn’t gone away on its own yet. It looked like it wasn’t going to. It wasn’t lying to admit to his sexuality, even if his relationship was fake.

“Yesss,” he hissed as the word was dragged out from between his teeth. He felt raw and exposed. He made sure none of this showed in his expression. The list of people who knew his sexuality was very short and he preferred it that way.

“So, you and John then? Before he had Mary?”

“John, as he has stated on multiple occasions, is not gay.”

“Oh, Sherlock. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pried. I just always thought, you know, there was a chance. Between you and me I mean. You dated that woman, the papers all said—”

Sherlock couldn’t listen to this. He didn’t want to do this. Why had she pushed? Why couldn’t she just accept that he wasn’t interested? Now they both had to suffer. “I’m not bisexual. I’m gay. I was never with Janine like that. It was a lie to get revenge. The money she got from selling the stories allowed her to buy a house in the country.” He spun on his heel. “I don’t need the tongues. Good night.” He stormed out the doors.

When he made it out to the street it was raining. He pulled his coat up and tried to hail a cab but for once he couldn’t get one to stop.

He wrapped his arms around himself and hunched in. It wasn’t the first time he’d been caught in the rain and it wasn’t going to be the last. He couldn’t stand the thought of public transport so he walked until he could hide under an awning. It was late enough that he didn’t have to share his cover, and after several boring minutes Sherlock stepped out into the rain. He couldn’t bear to stand around and think about his interaction with Molly. Movement was better, even if it made him soggy.

Sherlock was shivering when he made it to his flat. He was so cold he didn’t notice that they had a guest until he was already inside. He deduced the occupant but he couldn’t figure out why he were here. Sherlock was up the stairs and on the landing when he spoke.

\----

John paced the familiar floor. What was he doing? This was a horrible idea. What was he going to do when Sherlock came home? Say, “Hi, I noticed you’re dating a bloke so I’ve decided to come and tell you that I’ve forgiven you. Can I move back in? Oh, and can you dump him and go out with me?”  _ Yeah, right, _ John thought bitterly.

He’d fought himself the entire trip here. It’d taken him twice as long to come as it should have because he turned back so many times. But John Watson wasn’t a coward. He knew what he wanted and if there was a possibility, he was going to give it a shot.

Being alone while Sherlock lived was more painful than when he’d thought Sherlock was dead. Besides, John hated being alone. And he would have come back to Baker Street eventually if he hadn’t heard that Sherlock was dating. He had only stayed away so long because he was stubborn. He’d needed time to grieve; time that Sherlock wouldn’t have given him. But that time was over. He’d spent a good part of the last few years in mourning. It was time to move on.

\----

All the oxygen was missing. Sherlock couldn’t breathe. Had John seen him? No, he hadn’t noticed he wasn’t alone. Why had he said that?

Sherlock could have probably figured it out if he wasn’t in awe that John Watson was standing in his sitting room. He’d thought that John was gone for good.

\----

_ So, _ John thought,  _ what do I say? _ “I’m sorry. I never should have blamed you. I wasn’t actually mad at you. I was mad at myself. I didn’t notice you were depressed. I didn’t notice Harry had fallen off the wagon again. I failed everyone. I just needed some time. If you’ll have me—”

\----

Sherlock couldn’t eavesdrop any longer. It wasn’t right. Even though this was everything John wanted to say that he couldn’t because they were rubbish at talking. If something had to be said (and nothing did, Sherlock could read in John’s expression and the tilt of his head and the state of his clothing and a million little things that Sherlock had always ignored, figuring that sentiment was messing with his deductions) he should let John tell him to his face.

Stepping out of the shadows, Sherlock revealed himself.

John’s eyes went wide and round. He looked horrified. He took a moment to gather himself before saying, “Oh, you’re back. Good.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “You’re probably wondering why I’m here.”

“Yes,” Sherlock said.

“Yes, you were wondering? Right. Well, uh…”

Sherlock couldn’t stand the awkwardness. He crossed the room. He’d intended to stop after three paces but his feet kept pulling him forward. He crossed the room and kept walking until he was inches from John.

John had stopped talking and just stared at Sherlock’s advance, head tilting up to keep his eyes on Sherlock’s face. John’s eyes flickered down to Sherlock’s lips.

The room had been tense before but this was different. The air between them was charged.

Sherlock waited for John’s eyes to leave his lips but they didn’t. Sherlock swallowed and took a chance. It could be written off if he was misreading everything.

He licked his lips.

John’s eyes got impossibly wider as he followed the movement. John’s own tongue peaked out, leaving a sheen on his lips.

_ Pupils dilated, lips licked, leaning in, _ Sherlock noted. He couldn’t take John’s pulse without touching him. He wanted to touch him. He leaned in, pausing when he could feel John’s breath on his lips. John leaned forward.

The gap closed.

\----

John’s breath was knocked from him when his lips touched Sherlock’s. He stood on his toes to get closer. When Sherlock started to pull away John threw his arms around his neck and held him in place. He didn’t know if this was real or how it was happening, all he knew was that he was kissing Sherlock Holmes. His mouth was on Sherlock’s lips. The lips that he’d watched while he was supposed to be listening. The lips he’d watched wrapped around a cigarette. The lips he’d watched the times Sherlock ate. The lips he’d imagined touching his. The lips he’d imagined wrapped around his prick. The lips he was currently pressed against. The lips that were moving against his.

The lips that were opening.

There was a swipe of a tongue against the seam of John’s lips.

John’s brain short circuited. He opened his mouth and groaned when Sherlock’s tongue met his. John’s knees went weak but it didn’t matter because Sherlock was wrapping his arms around John’s body. One came to rest on the nape of John’s neck, the other wrapped around the small of John’s back.

Then Sherlock moaned.

It was a low rumbling sound reverberating through John’s chest and John whimpered in response. He was helpless, caught up in the hurricane force that was Sherlock Holmes. Only this time John wasn’t on the fringes, sometimes fighting the wind but for the most part letting it carry him where it wanted. This time he was in the eye of the storm and he was afraid if he took a step back, if he left the peaceful enclosure of Sherlock’s arms, he’d be destroyed. As it was it felt like he was floating.

It was a razor’s edge, one wrong move would mean annihilation.

Sherlock turned his head to take a breath. “What’s wrong?” He asked and his breath ghosted across John’s ear.

John shivered from the sensation then shivered again. Sherlock was soaked and now he was wet. He didn’t care about that, though. He wanted Sherlock’s lips on his again. He needed it. Ever since he saw that newspaper—

\----

Sherlock let John pull away but he couldn’t stop touching him. John was here. John was here in his arms. Never, even in his wildest dreams, even when he was dying, did he have John Watson in his arms.

John was looking up at him with the set of his jaw and eyes burning with disappointment and anger. This was John’s “you’ve done something more than a bit not good” expression.

“What’s wrong?” Sherlock asked again. He was terrified that John would say it was all a mistake. That he hadn’t wanted Sherlock to kiss him, that he hated him. That they could never see each other ever again. That—

“You’ve got a boyfriend,” John said.

“Oh,” Sherlock was relieved.

“Oh? Oh?! Is that all you’ve got to say?! You’ve just snogged me senseless—”

“Obviously not, as you’re talking—”

“Not the time, Sherlock. You’ve just cheated on your boyfriend.” John took a breath to continue.

“Technically you kissed me,” Sherlock said. He was rather giddy that John didn’t think it was a mistake. That John had actually wanted to kiss him. That they might actually be in a relationship now. He really didn’t know what was coming out of his mouth, he was too busy staring at John’s.

John made a choked off strangled sound. “Why are you—”

Sherlock cut him off. John was starting to get really aggravated and Sherlock didn’t want him to move away. Sherlock’s hands were on John’s shoulders and if he had any say on it they’d be on bare shoulders before the night was out. “Relax, I haven’t cheated on anyone.”

Instead of backing down (like Sherlock expected him to. Really, John was a marvel. He always managed to surprise Sherlock) John stood firm and jutted his chin out. “I know we haven’t had sex but kissing is more than a bit not good.”

“I’ll keep that in mind for the future,” Sherlock said. He liked that John wouldn’t be kissing anyone else while they were together. All of John’s kisses would be for Sherlock alone. That thought was nice. It would be a little annoying not to be able to just kiss or woo the people he needed information from on a case but it was worth it.

“Sherlock!”

Sherlock blinked at John, trying to figure out what the problem was.

John shook Sherlock’s hands from his shoulders. “You have a boyfriend.”

So that was the problem. “Not to worry. It’s just a cover for a case I’m working on.” Sherlock paused. He wasn’t sure if he should tell John about Moran. He didn’t want John in danger but if John was moving back in to 221B (and he was moving back, wasn’t he?) he’d be a target. It was only two weeks in, the papers would be happy to hear John and him were in a relationship; he didn’t know if Moran would buy it, though. But John would find him continuing to date Chris objectionable. Frankly, he felt so too. Sherlock decided he’d take John to the gala, where he could keep an eye on him and John would have his back. It was still early enough for the ruse to work. He’d still be able to catch Moran.

John was furious. “We had a rule. Remember, after Janine? You agreed that you weren’t going to string people along like that anymore.”

Sherlock took off his sodden coat while John was talking and he removed his scarf and gloves. His hands were cold but it’d be nice to actually feel John’s skin. When John was finished Sherlock frowned down at him. “Do you really think I’ve forgotten that? No, Chris agreed to pretend to be in a relationship with me. I think he’s trying to use the publicity to entice his ex back. Or maybe he just wanted to let him know he moved on. I’m not sure, it didn’t matter.”

That took the wind out of John’s sails. “Oh.” John started thinking, Sherlock could tell he was looking for something else to find objectionable. “So, you’re not in a relationship?” John asked.

“No, I’m not.”

Sherlock took out his phone and sent two texts while John processed that. The first to Mycroft informing him that he was taking John to the gala. The second to Chris informing him that he was right, that John was, in fact, interested and he no longer needed a date.

He furrowed his brow. “Unless….” Sherlock trailed off.

“Unless?”

Sherlock licked his lips. “Unless you meant what you said when I came in.”

“What’d I say?”

It was a big risk but Sherlock decided it was worth it. After a kiss like that it was all or nothing. “You said, ‘Hi, I noticed you’re dating a bloke so I’ve decided to come and tell you that I’ve forgiven you. Can I move back in? Oh, and can you dump him and go out with me?’”

John cringed in embarrassment. But his body language didn’t portray any regret or misgivings.

Taking heart from that Sherlock said, “To answer: yes to both, you can move back in and I’d prefer it if you didn’t want the second room.”

Sherlock’s mobile pinged with a text alert. Sherlock looked down and read:

**From: Chris**

**I knew it! He’s lucky to have you. Don’t break the bed tonight. ;)**

\----

John watched Sherlock as he got a little wrinkle over his nose as he read his text. Sherlock sniffed in disdain.

“What is it?” John asked. He didn’t want it to be a case. He wasn’t sure where this night was going to lead or what bed he’d be sleeping in tonight. Would Sherlock want to take it slow? That comment Mycroft made at the palace implied that Sherlock was still a virgin, was that still true?

“Chris thinks you’re lucky to have me, apparently.” Judging from Sherlock’s expression he disagreed. Something in John’s chest eased, he was glad Sherlock’s relationship was fake. But at the same time something in John’s chest panged. Sherlock clearly didn’t think he was worthy of John’s affections when that couldn’t be further from the truth. It was John who was lucky to have Sherlock.

It was easy to write poetry to his girlfriends. He just sat in front of a computer and wrote what he felt. He didn’t have to look her in the eye. Plus, his girlfriends were women. There wasn’t a societal taboo regarding speaking about your feelings to a woman.

If this was going to work, John needed to be able to do the same with Sherlock. He opened his mouth, but he didn’t know what to say. He closed it and took out his mobile.

**To: Sherlock**

**I’m the luckiest man in the world.**

Sherlock’s mobile pinged and Sherlock checked it. The side of his mouth twitched up.

After a short moment John’s mobile pinged.

**From: Sherlock**

**I need to get out of these wet clothes.**

John didn’t have the patience to type out a reply. “Want help?” He asked.

Sherlock looked panicked. He paused a moment before saying, “I’m going to take a quick shower. Be right back,” and sweeping out of the room.

John stared at the space Sherlock was previously occupying. What the hell was that? Had he come on to strong? God, he hoped he hadn’t bolloxed everything up.

\----

Sherlock wasn’t sure how to proceed. What was the social protocol if you’d already had sex with another person that night? Was Sherlock allowed to have sex with John? Did he have to tell John about his sex with Chris?

He turned on the water and ran through different scenarios. He could tell John before sex, they might fight and John would leave forever. Ok, that was the worst case. He could tell John after, they might have a worse fight, John would be disgusted and John would leave forever, never speaking to him ever again. Ok, that was the worst case. He ran though other possibilities, John finding out during, John finding out after and not caring, John finding out before and not caring… Sherlock figured that one was most likely. There was always the option to never tell John but that didn’t sit well with Sherlock. It wasn’t lying, per se, but he wanted to be honest with John. He had damaged John’s trust so much when he faked his death he couldn’t do so again.

There was the sound of knuckles rapping on wood. “Sherlock? You ok?” John asked through the door.

Sherlock turned the water off in response. He’d made sure to wash thoroughly, just in case John was interested. He thought about how he was going to say this but no words came to mind. Sherlock took his mobile out of his trousers. There was a text from Mycroft that Sherlock spared a moment to glance at.

**From: Mycroft**

**Moran has been eliminated. Your assistance will no longer be necessary.**

Sherlock couldn’t find it in himself to be irritated. He had more important things to worry about.

**To: John**

**Chris and I engaged in some relationship activities even though the relationship was fake. We had a date today. -SH**

He hoped that was enough information for John to understand. He held his breath.

**From: John**

**That’s… well. Ok. Did you not want to today?**

That was a good question. Did Sherlock want to have sex again today? He thought about his kiss with John, he’d been half hard by the time they broke apart. He smirked as he sent a text.

**To: John**

**I’m up for it if you are. -SH**

Sherlock heard John laugh through the door.

**From: John**

**Was that innuendo?**

Sherlock was sorely tempted to send a winky face and he wasn’t going to do that. So, he ran a towel through his hair and wrapped it around his waist.

\----

When Sherlock opened the door a cloud of steam came out. His skin was flushed pink from the heat of the water and there were droplets dripping down his bare chest. The scar from where Mary shot him was still pink but John only spared it a moment’s thought before moving on.

Sherlock was fit.

John licked his lips. His eyes moved downward to the trail of hair that disappeared under the towel. “Uh… Ah, huh.” John laughed uncomfortably.

“You never answered my question,” Sherlock said. “Are you?”

John couldn’t pull his eyes away from the miles of pale skin before him. He barely recognised that Sherlock was speaking. He’d seen Sherlock in various states of nudity before, Sherlock enjoyed walking around in a sheet, but he’d never been allowed to stare. He’d always pulled his gaze away, not wanting to make his (he thought asexual at the time) flatmate uncomfortable.

“What?” John asked, realizing that Sherlock had asked him a question but he couldn’t remember what it was.

“I’m going to take that for a yes,” Sherlock said.

“What?” John asked again. He understood the words Sherlock was saying but he wasn’t following the conversation.

Sherlock dropped the towel and walked into his room.

“Jesus Christ,” John breathed, watching that plump arse wiggle as Sherlock walked away. He swallowed, shook himself out of his daze and followed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to my beta [EchoSilverWolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EchoSilverWolf/pseuds/EchoSilverWolf) who got this done super quickly for me so I could enter it for Haitusory.

Sherlock watched from the bed as John entered the room.

John shut the door behind himself then hesitated. He looked uncomfortable. “So, um…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Not asexual?”

“No,” Sherlock drawled. He knew where John got the idea from. He regretted turning John down over dinner. Then there was that imbecilic comment from Mycroft. Clearly Mycroft wasn’t capable of deducing when Sherlock had sex. Since Sherlock didn’t feel like sharing in front of John (thinking him a repressed homophobic bisexual at the time), Sherlock didn’t correct his brother.

“And um…” John stumbled.

“I’m gay, John.” Sherlock held out more hope for this coming out than the one he had with Molly. It helped that he wanted to have sex with John and was certain John wanted him too.

“Right. I’m not—”

Sherlock cut John off. “I’m aware.”

“No, that’s not what I was going to say. I was going to say: I’m not straight,” John said determinedly.

Sherlock hummed. “I know.”

John sighed. “Of course you do. Why didn’t you ever—” He cut himself off. “No, I don’t want to know. It’s in the past.” John looked up with a pained smile. “We wasted so much time.”

Sherlock wasn’t pleased with how this was going. It all worked out in the end, didn’t it? He spread his legs and moved his hand down his stomach. John had a small fixation on Sherlock’s hands. “It’s rude to be dressed when someone is nude,” Sherlock said simply to move this along. He was thinking he should have struck when John was stunned. Now John’d had time to think and that simply would not do.

John laughed. “Well, I’d hate to be rude. That’s your job.”

Sherlock snorted. “Strip, John. I’m getting cold.”

“Can’t have that,” John agreed and started unbuttoning his shirt. When he was finished with that he hesitated.

Knowing the problem, Sherlock said, “My scar isn’t bad, is it?” John had never gone without some sort of cover for his top half as long as Sherlock had known him.

“What? No, God no!”

“Then why—”

John cut Sherlock off. “Because, it’s different. Yours is small, noticeable, but neat. Mine… Mine is messy. There was an infection and it’s just horrible. Most of the women—”

“Were idiots, John. There was a reason I hated them.”

“You hated them because….” John looked up at Sherlock agog. “Were you jealous?”

“Yesss,” Sherlock hissed. He stood and walked up to John. “Now, take your clothes off, captain.”

John smiled, clearly feeling better. He took his vest off and started on his jeans.

Sherlock tried not to stare but the scar was fascinating. John was right, it was quite large but it had already healed and turned white. He wanted to go see what the other side looked like but he didn’t want to make John uncomfortable.

John must have noticed Sherlock’s preoccupation. “Oh, go on then,” he said.

Sherlock met John’s eyes to make sure then walked up and brushed his fingers against the tissue. “Does it hurt?” He asked.

“Not to the touch, it locks up though.”

“Mm,” Sherlock hummed. He’d had seen that whenever John hadn’t slept comfortably. Sherlock walked around to the other side and examined the exit wound.

“It’s hideous,” John said.

“It’s beautiful,” Sherlock argued. “It brought you to me.” Sherlock kissed it.

Deciding that was quite enough talking Sherlock pressed up against John’s back and kissed along his neck. His hands moved to John’s front and swiped across his nipples.

John giggled.

“Sensitive,” Sherlock noted and bit gently where neck met shoulder.

John groaned and bucked his hips. He spun in Sherlock’s arms and pulled him down for a kiss. John took control. Sherlock fought back simply to make John more aggressive. Their tongues twisted and John nipped at Sherlock’s lips. When John growled Sherlock’s knees went weak. John shoved him back against the door with a loud thud. Sherlock threw his head back and moaned.

“You like that?” John asked as he set to work on Sherlock’s neck.

“Mm,” Sherlock assented. Sherlock set to work on the jeans John was still wearing. The button was undone but the zip was still up. Sherlock made short work of it and squatted to pull John’s pants down with the denims.

John took advantage of the height difference when Sherlock was moving back up to reclaim Sherlock’s lips. Sherlock wrapped on hand around John’s neck and the other he brushed against John’s half hard cock. John pushed into the contact and sucked on Sherlock’s tongue. One of John’s hands was braced against the door and the other he dragged down Sherlock’s side and wrapped around Sherlock cock.

Sherlock whimpered.

It only took two strokes for Sherlock to become completely hard. John broke the kiss to pant into Sherlock’s neck and Sherlock focused on stroking John’s cock. John grew in Sherlock’s hand and Sherlock paid special attention to the head.

“Fuck, Sherlock,” John gasped.

Sherlock reclaimed John’s mouth for a bruising kiss before sliding down the door to his knees.

“Condom!” John nearly shouted. Sherlock didn’t want one but he wasn’t going to argue with the doctor. If he pressed he might get John to go without, but John would feel awkward about it later. Sherlock didn’t want that. So, he directed John to his night stand.

John pulled out a condom and set the lube on the top of the nightstand. He removed the latex from the foil and rolled it on. He walked back over to Sherlock and spread his legs. Sherlock settled between them and licked a stripe up John’s cock.

“Fuck, oh, fuck.” John hesitatingly put his hand on Sherlock’s curls.

Sherlock nuzzled the base of John’s cock, licking John’s testicles. John went to remove his hand but Sherlock moved it back. Sherlock was confident here, he was good at giving blow jobs and he didn’t want this to end too soon. The feedback John would give through his hand would make it so Sherlock could pull off in time.

“Ah, ah!” John thrust forward involuntarily.

Sherlock stopped everything and looked up waiting until John’s eyes met his before swallowing John down. John swore and yanked on Sherlock’s hair. Sherlock moaned, he loved having his hair pulled. He hollowed his cheeks and sucked. When John’s grip loosened Sherlock looked up, meeting John’s eyes again.

“Jesus  _ Christ _ , Sherlock,” John gasped. “I can’t believe this is actually happening.”

“Mm,” Sherlock agreed. He’d fantasised about this. Dreamed of this. Masturbated to this on more than one occasion. Sherlock took John deep, burying his nose in John’s wiry pubic hair before swallowing. It was a tricky move, one that required practice. John gasped and pulled on Sherlock’s hair again. Sherlock eased off, determined not to finish John yet. He reached down and wrapped his hand around his own cock to take the edge off. He felt like he could come just from this.

Wrapping his hand around the base of John’s prick he pulled off, then licked the tip of John’s cock through the condom. Sherlock wrinkled his nose, this would be a lot more effective without the latex in the way. Condoms weren’t actually made out of latex anymore (well, some were, but most brands were changing over) due to latex allergies. They were made of polyurethane or other synthetic materials.

“You’re thinking too much,” John noted. Sherlock privately agreed, he realized he’d gotten distracted. That shouldn’t have happened. It was criminal. He should be focused entirely on John.

“I can fix that,” John said.

He pulled on Sherlock’s hand, wanting him to stand. Sherlock felt like a failure. He couldn’t believe he’d gotten distracted like that. It’d happened before, when he was with other men, but they didn’t seem to notice or mind. Nor did they notice or mind that the entire time Sherlock went down on them he was thinking of John. And,  _ oh, GOD, no!  _ now he was thinking of other men!

Sherlock allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. His knees popped and John winced in sympathy.

“I’m too old for the floor,” John said decidedly. “Get on the bed.”

Sherlock laid down on the bed but he could feel his erection wilting. How had this gotten so far off track?

“What’s wrong?” John asked.

And now John was asking what was wrong. “That,” Sherlock said with a wave of his hand. “I got distracted and now….” He waved again.

“You’re thinking too much,” John said. “I know a way to shut your mind off.” Sherlock expected John to tell him to put on a condom but John surprised him (John always surprised him). “Roll over,” John ordered.

Sherlock rolled over warily. Did John want to fuck him already? He wasn’t really in the mood anymore. Well, he was, he wanted John, but he didn’t feel very sexy right now. John pulled on Sherlock’s hips so Sherlock knelt up on his knees. John pressed Sherlock’s head down into the sheets. Sherlock grabbed a pillow to rest on. He waited for John to grab the lube and push in.

“AH!” Sherlock yelped.

John had licked a stripe over Sherlock’s hole. Sherlock tried to wiggle away but John held him in place. He buried his face between Sherlock’s cheeks and licked again.

“John!” Sherlock protested. He’d never had someone do this to him before. It was filthy. It was  _ amazing _ .

John pulled back and slapped Sherlock’s arse cheek. “Hold still. You’re going to break my nose.” John knelt back over and got back to work.

Was it because he’d just had a shower? Was this something John did to all his partners? John licked around Sherlock’s hole. Sherlock’s thighs quivered as he tried not to back into John’s face. He wanted John’s tongue to spear him. But, no. That was too far. Too filthy.

Then John pushed his tongue in.

Sherlock arched his back and howled.

“You like that?” John asked.

“Yes! Don’t stop,” Sherlock demanded.

John bent back over and licked a long stripe from Sherlock’s perineum to his tailbone. It wasn’t until Sherlock whimpered that John stuck his tongue back in. Sherlock gasped as he tried to process the new sensations. John thrust with his tongue, forcing all of it into Sherlock’s arse. He pulled out and kissed Sherlock’s rim. Then he scraped his teeth over the inside of Sherlock’s cheek.

“Please,” Sherlock begged.

John hummed happily and used his not inconsiderable snogging skills on Sherlock’s arse. He licked, sucked, kissed, and tongued Sherlock until Sherlock was a sweaty mess, chanting John’s name over and over.

When the action stopped Sherlock looked over his shoulder to see John wipe saliva from his mouth and chin. Sherlock’s prick jumped at the sight and he leaked a fat bead of precome onto the sheets where it joined the a small puddle already down from John’s attention.

“John,” Sherlock implored.

“Sorry, I really need to fuck you now.” John ripped his condom off and put on another.

Sherlock was confused for a second then he remembered John’s comment when he came home from working one day. That teeth could put holes in condoms and one had gotten his patient, a sixteen-year-old, pregnant. Sherlock groaned and pushed his arse back.

“That ok? I mean, we didn’t really discuss it. Did you want to top?” John babbled.

“John, if you don’t get in me right now I will literally die.”

“Right, ok.” John chuckled. He spread lube over his shaft and his fingers. He went to stretch Sherlock, something completely unnecessary considering how often Sherlock had been having sex (especially after John’s oral skills). Sherlock was going to inform John of this, but then John found Sherlock’s prostate.

“Nnugh,” Sherlock choked as more fluid dripped onto the sheets.

John pulled his fingers out.

“Flip over,” he said. “I want to see you.”

Sherlock scrambled to obey. He spread his legs and watched John settle between them. John had put on a little weight, being married apparently did that to people, but he was still well muscled. Sherlock appreciated John’s strong arms and the fur on his chest.

John put Sherlock’s legs over his shoulders. “How flexible are you?” John asked.

“I once sucked a man off while I fucked him,” Sherlock said as he locked his ankles around John’s neck.

“Fuck,” John bit his lip, that was the hottest thing he’d ever heard. He stroked himself twice before lining up. “You ready?” He asked.

“John,” Sherlock warned. But the rest of his sentence turned into a loud moan as John breached him.

John was big. Sherlock arched his back as John slowly pushed in. He tilted his hips so John would brush against his prostate as he thrust. When John bottomed out he paused. Sherlock allowed him a few seconds to adjust before wiggling his hips.

“Fuck me, John.”

John make a strangled noise. He moved one arm over Sherlock’s shoulder, next to Sherlock’s head. Sherlock planted a kiss to the forearm. The other John wrapped around Sherlock’s hip. Then John rolled his hips.

Both John and Sherlock moaned. John pulled out slightly and pushed in. He did this twice more, too slowly for Sherlock’s taste.

“I said: Fuck me, John.”

John growled and thrust deeply. Then he slid out slowly before pumping in vigorously.

“Yes,” Sherlock threw his head back. He braced one arm against his headboard and the other he wrapped around John.

Without breaking rhythm John leaned down and kissed Sherlock messily. Sherlock moaned and nipped at John’s lips. John’s grip on Sherlock’s hip tightened and John nosed Sherlock’s head to the side so he could mark Sherlock’s neck.

Sherlock’s hands became claws. He unhooked his ankles. One foot, the one on the side where John’s arm was rasied, dangled in the air over John’s shoulder. The other Sherlock wrapped around John’s back. John let go of Sherlock’s hip and moved his arm out before taking Sherlock’s hip again. Sherlock pressed his ankle into John’s back, encouraging him to go harder, faster.

“Ah, ah, ah!” Sherlock shouted as he panted. He arched his back. John’s abs were brushing Sherlock’s cock with every thrust. John was on top of him, John was in him, John was everywhere. Everything was, “John, John, John!”

“God, Sherlock, fuck, I’m close.” John’s hand fell from Sherlock’s hip to the bed.

John was brushing Sherlock’s prostate. Now that Sherlock knew John was close he angled his hips so the contact was more direct. John couldn’t press against it directly, he was too big, but if he could just… “AH!”

It took two more strokes of John’s cock for Sherlock to scream his name and come. Sherlock’s orgasm was so powerful that his eyes closed despite his intentions and he didn’t get to watch John come.

John fell on Sherlock’s body. Sherlock moved his leg so John could roll off of him. John did and they both laid on their backs, staring at the ceiling. They turned their heads at the same time and when their eyes met they broke into giggles. John’s higher pitched ones mixing with Sherlock’s deep rumbling ones. They both felt eight years younger.

“Oh, God. We’re idiots,” John said, which made them both laugh harder.

“Yeah,” Sherlock agreed. “But you’re my idiot.”

John blushed. “And you’re mine.”

They leaned over and kissed chastely before deciding they were disgusting. After cleaning up and turning out the lights they curled around each other under the blankets.

They stroked each other, pausing every once in a while to kiss chastely.

“So, what is this case that you need a boyfriend for?” John asked.

“There’s no case. Mycroft just made it up to get me to stop moping.”

John went still. “Did you know?”

“No, not until he texted me that he’d caught the man in response to me texting that you were my boyfriend, not Chris.”

“He played you,” John said.

Sherlock sniffed. “Us.”

“Worked though,” John said. “Your brother is a genius.”

“Don’t let him hear that. If his head gets any bigger it won’t fit in his stupid little cars.”

John laughed. “We should thank him buy having sex in one of those cars.”

Sherlock thought about that for a moment before agreeing. “I have a public sex kink I want to explore. Might as well.”

John threw back his head as he laughed. When he was done he asked, “Oh, yeah? What other kinks do you have?”

“A military kink, for one.”

“Mm, I should make you call me captain.”

“Yes, you should,” Sherlock agreed, dropping his voice lower. “What about you? What kinks do you have?”

“You, just, God, Sherlock. Everything about you turns me on. Your brilliance, I get hard at crime scenes. Your voice, your hands, the way you walk around in those damned sheets…”

Sherlock already knew those.

“…The way your eyes light up when you get excited. The little things too, the little wrinkle you get above your nose when you get frustrated. The way you try to hide how big a heart you have. God, had I really known how much love you’re capable of I would have made a move on you even though I thought you were asexual. It wouldn’t matter that we didn’t have sex, just the fact that you, capable of caring so much, would care about me like that would be enough.”

Sherlock hugged John and planted a kiss on John’s forehead. “It wouldn’t have worked.”

“What?” John asked.

“Us, we had to go through all that to be together. Before my fall I wasn’t ready and when I came back I was too selfish.”

“No, I was selfish, wanting to punish you like that. I should have just been happy that you were back.”

“No,” Sherlock disagreed. “If you’d done that I might have sacrificed myself for you again. I’d do anything to protect you.” Sherlock squeezed John in his arms. “But now I know, danger is something we have to face together. I needed you, when I was out there.”

“I needed you too,” John admitted. “Tell me, about your time away. I never listened.”

Sherlock went tense. “What do you want to know?”

“Tell me everything,” John said.

So Sherlock did. He tried to skip over bits but John made him say everything. How he felt when he was able to turn the criminals he was hunting over to the authorities. How he felt when he had to kill them. Even his time in Serbia. “I still have nightmares,” Sherlock said quietly.

John was hugging Sherlock tightly. “God, I can’t imagine. You were so brave.” John was quiet for a bit before he asked, “Did I ever tell you about Afghanistan?”

“Not really, no.” Sherlock was curious. He’d even tried to steal John’s service records but Mycroft caught him.

So John told Sherlock everything, the sun and the sand. The grass, the friends, the people he saved and the ones he lost. The choices that haunted him, the nightmares that wouldn’t stop. “It got better, after meeting you. But even now I still have them.”

“Yes, I heard.”

“I know. I’d wake and you were playing your violin to drown me out.”

“I was playing to help you go back to sleep,” Sherlock said.

John kissed Sherlock’s forehead. “Thank you. You know, I’ve never told anyone this. Even Ella…”

“Well, she was an idiot.”

“She was right about one thing,” John said.

“What?”

“There was something I wanted to tell you when you were dead. She told me to tell her, but I couldn’t.”

“What?” Sherlock asked again.

“I love you,” John said. “I have since the beginning.”

“I love you too, John,” Sherlock said, resting his chin on the top of John’s head. “It just took me awhile to figure it out.”

John hummed. Then he yawned.

Sherlock yawned in response.

“I’m glad I got to tell you,” John said.

“Me too,” Sherlock said. “I thought I’d never get the chance to.”

“Well, we’ve got the rest of our lives to make up for it,” John said, yawning again. “Hm, I like the sound of that, the rest of our lives.”

Sherlock agreed wholeheartedly.

They fell asleep in each other’s arms that night and most nights thereafter. 

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, the chippy’s name came from another fanfic but I don’t know which one. Anyone know so I can link? It was a really good story. 
> 
> Finished already? Check out all my other BBC Sherlock fanfics. There's something for everyone!
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr [( @LookArtThat )](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/lookartthat) and follow my sub-blog [( @TheArtOne )](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/theartone) for story updates. I'm on Twitter @GizmoTrinket221 slowly turning into a shadowy gremlin.


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